


call incoming: alien boyfriend

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Idk what this is truly, Kind of lonely lance keeps busy, M/M, Not really about lance being lonely but we’ll get there boys, Pining, after Keith leaves for the blade, i larb my kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:59:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lance is starting to bend with the pressure of defending the Universe, but it’s not all doom and gloom.Or; Lance and Keith video call.





	call incoming: alien boyfriend

Lance knows The Coalition is important. Like listening to Allura and washing your hands after you use the bathroom and getting eight hours of sleep and eating breakfast is important. Completely necessary to ensure a good quality of life, but hard to maintain and even harder to enjoy.

There are things they have to do to build morale, and if that’s nonsensical shows day-in and day-out for the happiness of some planets’ inhabitants, Lance will gladly do it. He thinks, _if not us, who else?_ There’s no one else up in space doing what they’re doing, there’s no one coming to back them up, so if this is how they gain allies - so be it.

He thinks it’s silly, sure. They all see the comedic aspect of saying words that aren't theirs in Paladin armor like stage-performers. Lance finds it even funnier to play into the role, to jeer dramatically and push every ounce of effort into the lines. People seeing his face and identifying him as a Paladin of Voltron fills him with pleasure; piloting the red -and once upon a time, blue -lion is no small feat, and not just anyone could do it. He must have the qualities, whatever they may be, that suit the job description (however, he doesn't quite count himself as a hothead, so he hopes they’re more on the blue Paladin side of traits). And although he may not have performed spectacularly in the flight simulators in the Galaxy Garrison, he doesn’t think he’s all that bad at saving the universe.

Despite the ridiculousness of it, Lance does enjoy using the silks again. It feels like a small respite in the mind-numbing-ness of diplomacy he must partake in each day. He thinks it’s fun to show off his childhood skills to the other Paladins.

It makes him nostalgic, remembering being young, before he talked in flight jargon and dreamed in neutron stars, he spent his days twisting around long stretches of smooth fabric. Just because he could.

To his displeasure, the fabric burns his hands without the armor, so he can’t exactly practice and his armor’s too clunky to earn points for technicality. Even though the crowd roars, he has slick feelings of _do I look weird, am I doing this right?_

He brushes it off because _of course he looks weird_ and _of course he’s doing it badly._ At the end of the day, he doesn’t suppose it matters as long as the people watching smile.

Besides, he likes the way his skin looks under the stadium lights, indulges in the dazzling feeling of thousands of eyes watching him. Perhaps his performance is lackluster in comparison to the professionals on Earth, but most cultures they encounter share a common trait - the people love to dance.

And Lance loves to dance. Until he hates it.

He hates waking up at the artificial ass-crack of dawn. He hates walking down the barren too-quiet halls, soundless but for the steady thrum and whir of machines he doesn’t understand. He hates sitting at the dining table and feeling everyone’s eyes on him, looking for something. Lance thinks he knows, so he jokes until they groan and smiles when they laugh. Lance doesn’t hate hearing Pidge giggle through her nose, adores how Hunk’s beaming smile can combat any of the fogginess under his skin. He loves how Allura pretends to be outraged at his fake-flirtatious smirk and how Coran gives him that warm-at-the-edges grin, revels in how Shiro shakes his head fondly, bemused.

He hates how he looks to Keith’s chair, searching for his face, for how he almost snarls at him, the way his lip quirks up lopsidedly.

-

The day continues like this, a trend, a pattern. Lance will spot the unease of someone. The tense crinkle in their brow or hunched shoulders. He doesn’t like to see them like this, because he cares for them, deeply and desperately; this is war, they’re all alone in space. Thousands of miles from home, dancing some foreign dance of finding balance and the quiet moments in between.

-

“Hi Pidge, you need any help?” Lance says, trotting into Katie’s metallic den like a stray dog. His hairs held back by a damp headband, wet hair already dripping down his neck and soaking into his shirt collar. His face is freshly washed, nearly red against the rest of his tan skin. He had been spending his free time relaxing, until he realized he was probably the only one actually doing so.

Pidge doesn’t look up at him just yet, hands moving quickly. She lifts her head to show she’s heard him but her eyes otherwise stay trained on her laptop screen. “Sorry?”

Lance plops down next to her and draws his legs up to rest his chin on his knees, content to watch her for the time being. “I asked if you needed any help,” he says over her quick tapping. After a few more minutes of typing, she stops.

Pidge looks up at him through her large glasses and smiles warmly. “I don’t think so, I’m basically finished with this. Do you want to play some Phantasm or something?” she asks, already back to typing.

Lance grins, “Perfect,” he says, “How long do you think you’ll be? I’ll go set it up in the common room.”

Again, there’s a pause, but Lance doesn’t mind. This time she doesn’t stop typing, but he can tell he’s messed up her concentration. “Uh,” she leans forward and pushes her glasses up with the back of a hand that’s still typing. “Not long? Ten minutes, maybe longer? Not that long,” she says. Lance just smiles, pats her on the head and starts for the common area.

It’s admittedly nicer in the common room as of late. They might have been busy with The Coalition, but nothing could really stop the teenagers from finding a way to play video games. Even Hunk liked to play and the space was used once or twice a week. Still, it was fiddly to use Altean and Earth tech at the same time, it usually took some maneuvering and slim-fingered persuasion to start the game up. He powered up the ancient Altean TV screen before bending over the consoles, threading through wires and adaptors (handmade by the genius teen engineers and their glamorous assistant) until he catches the right ones and jimmies them a little. Like magic the screen comes alive, Killbot Phantasm in all its pixelated glory glaring bright reds and browns across the sofas.

He decides that Hunk couldn’t possibly miss out on some good ‘ole Garrison Trio bonding, and maybe even the others would want to play too. It had been a while since Allura allotted them some free time and they could all use a break from politicking.

He decides to try and collect Shiro, Allura and Coran first, as he figures Hunk is most likely experimenting in the kitchen if he wasn’t with Pidge. He heads to the bridge, an unusually authentic spring in his step: he feels better than he has in days.

Upon entering the control room, Lance realizes its completely empty. He almost immediately turns to leave, but stops when he hears a repetitive humming noise. He tilts his head.

“Is that...?” he murmurs to himself. He walks back into the room, his eyes scanning the room for whatever’s vibrating softly. He finally lifts his eyes to Shiro’s chair where a tablet lays face down.

Lance jogs to the chair and picks the screen up, giving it an weary scowl. If this is a distress call from a Coalition member or a political matter, he is going to be super annoyed. It’s unregistered, simply says “communication incoming” with a small green buttons he assumes means answer. He clicks it quickly, waiting for the call to connect.

Seconds later, piercing violet eyes meet his. Lance’s mouth drops open of its own accord. “Keith!” he says happily. And then, not so happily, “Dios, is your hair longer?”

Keith’s dark hair is _definitely_ longer than when he left, and his nose scrunches up in acknowledgement. “Why is it always my hair? Find some originality.” he says coolly, not really angry.

An uncomfortable silence follows. Lance can only stare at him, the way his mouth twists with impatience and the dark circles under his eyes.

“Lance?” Keith prompts.

“Right. Sorry, you probably want to talk to Shiro. I’ll go find-“

“No,” Keith interrupts, “you just went all quiet on me. Are you okay?” Keith asks. Lance is so schooled by the earnest tone he nearly doesn’t answer again.

“Yeah,” he rushes, wincing at the breathlessness of it. “I’m fine, just. Surprised. How come you don’t call the rest of us?” he blurts out.

Keith has the good graces to look embarrassed about that. “You want me to call you?”

Lance’s shoulders bunch up defensively. “Yeah man, of course we do. Pidge misses you like crazy, and Hunk is bursting with all the extra hugs he has to give out now that you’re not around. And I...” he trails off awkwardly. He can feel heat spreading across his face, hoping that in the semi-darkness Keith can’t make out his blush.

“Oh uh. Sure, I’ll definitely call you if you want me to.” Keith says. Lance suddenly feels a swell of pride in him - it’s nice when Keith shows some affection towards him, towards any of the team. He knows Keith finds it harder to show his happier emotions than his anger.

Lance feels like Keith just sucker-punched him regardless. Frightfully aware that’s he’s gaping at Keith like a fish through the screen, Lance starts to make the walk to find Shiro.

He tries to make small talk, about the Coalition, about their latest experiment in the kitchen trying to cultivate something that doesn't make his stomach turn. Eventually, Lance runs out of anything even remotely articulate and Keith stops him.

"Really?" Keith says, "You're asking me how the weather is? In space?"

Lance laughs in faux-nervousness. "Yes?"

Keith groans and rolls his eyes, but he smiles all the while.

-

Lance doesn't know why he's surprised when Keith calls him a few days later. He did coherently remember telling Keith with his own mouth that he wanted to talk more.

Lance wouldn't quite call Keith a people-pleaser, but he would say that Keith hates letting people down. Nonetheless, when his tablet starts ringing in the middle of the night he isn’t prepared to find a tired, moody-looking boy staring back at him.

“Hey,”

“Hey mullet, ever heard of sleep?” Lance yawns, rubbing his eyes.

Keith looks at him unabashedly. “You told me to call you more.”

Lance takes in the ever present dark circles under his eyes, how his wet hair is pulled back into a looze pony tail. “Not at 2 in the morning,” Lance laughs. He throws an arm across his eyes with a muffled  _humph_.

Keith’s lips pull up into a short lived smile. “Sorry. I just realized I told you I’d call you and then didn’t. I’ve been busy.” he explains.

“I can tell.” Lance says. Keith frowns.

“Mean. Do I really look that tired?” Keith asks. Lance puzzles this. If he didn’t know Keith, didn’t know how Keith’s shoulders drooped only when he was tired, how his resident scowl didn’t hold firm after hours of being on his feet, would he know?

“No,” Lance decides, “you don’t. Well, ‘part from the bags under your eyes. Those Gucci?” he laughs to himself.

“Ha-ha,” Keith says. “Very funny.” but he’s smiling too. “How’d you know I was tired then?”

“I just know you.” Lance says easily.

His hair’s curling in his eyes, unruly and frizzy. Keith says something particularly hilarious and he tilts his head back to giggle, quickly smothering it with a hand. Keith’s eyes soften at the edges, pulled tight from days of working on half the amount of sleep his body truly begged for.

Somehow, despite how exhausted he feels, he just can’t seem to close his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> our boys deserve some peace and quiet


End file.
